


A Miracle of Rare Device

by Tanista



Series: Domestic Adventures [31]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, MacGyver (TV 1985), Sunless Sea
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bats, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Diary/Journal, Domestic Adventures, Elder Continent, Exploration, Family, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, Original Character(s), Uncle-Niece Relationship, general Neathy weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-12-30 01:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanista/pseuds/Tanista
Summary: Never try to convince a troubleshooter's niece her uncle is dead. Not even temporarily.





	1. Time After Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deepandlovelydark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fulgent Engineering](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11428731) by [deepandlovelydark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark). 
  * Inspired by [“With a mazy motion”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12090138) by [deepandlovelydark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepandlovelydark/pseuds/deepandlovelydark). 



> For deepandlovelydark, with thanks. And for RDA, with love from a long-time fan. 
> 
> Presenting a sort-of fusion of two AUs, my own (Domestic Adventures) and deepandlovelydark's Ecstasy in Cosmogone series, some of the weirdest- and most interesting- MacGyver stories I've ever read. If you haven't yet, go read them right now!
> 
> For Fallen London/Sunless Sea folks, it probably wouldn't hurt to check out a few of my own stories too, just for future reference on MacGyver (the classic version), my AU within it and the OC, Becky Grahme. Apologies in advance for any setting-related errors; I'm still a novice player, just feeling my way around. I'm currently using the same nom de plume in-game, and I'd be pleased to make your Acquaintance.
> 
> How this crazy thing came about- I read and commented, received comments in return, I started playing the game and got inspired and asked permission, and then there was the lovely gift story featuring Pete and Becky, "With a mazy motion." (I'm not worthy!)
> 
> And now, well...here's something from my side of the equation. More or less. With much thanks for deepandlovelydark's gracious permission. 
> 
> Anyway- Mac and Becky in the Neath, who would've thought? I did, apparently. We'll see how far this goes. Comments are always welcome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no place like home, even if you have no idea where or when it is.

It's getting harder to remember how long they have been there, in that place. No clear memory remains of how they got there, or even where "there" actually is, in regards to topside.

Sometimes their new life together seems so surreal and she wonders. Are they caught in the web of a giant spider in the Avid Horizon, perhaps? Had they made a deal with a devil in exchange for their souls? Lost forever in the center of an illusory maze somewhere in the Neath? Kidnapped and sharing a hallucination dosed in prisoner's honey? Or are they merely stray figments of the imagination, that had somehow touched base in Parabola and made a connection?

Is she real? Is he? Who knows, anymore?

She glances around her surroundings- the comfortable furniture, the eclectic collection of scavenged items, books and his inventions. It's home, and has been for some time, she's aware of that much.

Recalling certain things about the past has also become more difficult. The blue of the endless sky, and the brightness of the sun. Clouds and rain. All the stars, planets and galaxies at night, forever out of reach. Flowers and grass, trees and birds. The beaches and rugged coastlines of California and the Pacific Northwest she loved to visit. The technology that made life so easy in comparison to what they have now, despite his attempts at re-inventing them for home use.

Things that are so very different than here in the Neath, by the shores of the Sunless Sea. Things she took for granted, once upon a time.

Her gaze strays along the mirrors in the far corner of the room. There are three of them, full-length, arranged as in any dressing room so viewers can see their reflections from different angles at the same time.

Only what they see does not always reflect themselves. They watch him working on a ship in the Underzee, either with a crew or alone, cheerfully repairing machinery and getting himself into- and out of- trouble as per usual.

And they observe other things.

Sometimes it's just him with a haunted, world-weary look in his eyes, still doing his thing topside, destined to remain alone by his own fear of abandonment. Other times he's in the uniform of an Air Force Colonel- hair much shorter and graying at the temples- traveling through a circular gate and fighting aliens on distant planets. Occasionally he has a thick mustache, either writing dime novels or riding a steam-powered contraption across the deserts of the Old West. Or else he's much younger, either in a doctor's white lab coat, working on a farm or as a Naval air pilot. Once there was a frightening scene of of him with darker hair and muscular arms, renovating an apartment while seducing and later terrifying its owner. There are glimpses of yet other lives as well- or, at least, those belonging to someone who looks remarkably like him.

She hardly ever spies herself by his side in any of those Reflections. It vaguely upsets her, and she has no idea as to why.

Other than that it's just been the two of them, together in this cozy cottage in Fallen London. Finding comfort in each other's presence, and doing what they can to keep things from getting much crazier than they already are.

Which for the Neath is an understatement of the first order.

A Parabolan Kitten sidles up to her, rubbing against her trousers and demanding attention. She bends and strokes its fur. "Hey, Specchio," she murmurs. The purring soothes her before she goes to join her uncle at his workbench.

"Is it ready yet?"

He looks up at her and smiles. "Yeah. All it needs is the final touch." He pulls out his pocketknife; a brief invocation to Salt, Storm and Stone, a quick touch to their index fingers, a few drops of blood each, and the miniature enigma embedded inside the pendant begins to glow softly. "You done with the letter yet?"

She picks up the nearby sheet of paper. "Almost. You want to add anything?"

"Course I do." He picks up a pen and dips it in the inkwell. After inscribing a few lines and blowing gently on the ink he hands it to her. She writes some more and finishes with a long-unused name, then folds the letter, places it in the addressed envelope and slips the necklace inside before sealing it shut.

She frowns at the item. "Well, there we go, for better or worse. So what happens now?"

"We'll send the envelope to that lawyer in Mission City along with the instructions. Jack- our Unrepentant Smuggler- still has some contacts that work topside as well. A hundred years later William Newberry should be passing it on to you, right on schedule."

"And he did; he's very punctual that way." She frowns. "All the same, though. Seems weird that it's as simple as that."

"Know what you mean. It's like somethin' out of those sci-fi stories you used to read, isn't it? Don't worry about it. It's gonna work because it already has."

Her eyes narrow. "You know as well as I do that makes absolutely no sense."

"Hey, trust me. I've never steered you wrong before, have I?" He grins at her and winks. She rolls her eyes.

His expression turns serious, and he stands up to tenderly kiss her forehead and envelop her petite form in a warm embrace. "Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs. "It'll be okay. No matter what, we've still got each other. We'll find a way to be together no matter what happens."

Her arms close around him and she sighs, resting her head on his chest. "Yeah, I know. Wither thou goest, and all that. I love you."

"Love you too." They remain together for a long time, drawing strength from one another.

 _Home is where the heart is,_ she thinks. _And my heart's wherever he is. As simple as that._

Such a thing is no small consolation, when living in the Neath.

 


	2. Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected news in the midst of grief.

September ___, 189__. Location unknown.

Dear Self,

If you're reading this then it's been several months since you've heard of Uncle Mac's death. I'm sure you're really tired by now of the endless stream of condolences you've been hearing from everyone whom he's ever helped, and would love to hear something different for a change.

Well, here it is. He's alive. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.

And you can find him.

I know, I know. You're looking at the above date and thinking this is someone's sick and twisted idea of a joke- Jack's maybe, or even Murdoc. Or perhaps you're just losing your mind in grief.

To convince you you're not going nuts, here's a fun fact nobody else knows, except for you and Mac. The reason why you hate heights? Chris (your deceased older brother, remember) pushed you off the ladder of a tall slide at the playground when you were seven. Broke your upper right arm- a greenstick fracture, which fortunately healed fast, but made you wary of heights ever since.

Besides, you know deep down inside he's still alive, don't you? You can feel it through the unique bond you share with him. If he had actually died you would've known instantly. (Okay, he did die, but it was temporary and you didn't sense it, thank the gods- or Stone, rather- for that.)

Satisfied? Greetings from your future- which is the past, actually. (Don't ask. Seriously.) In a few months you will embark on an amazing quest- and believe me it will be a quest, just like in those fantasy stories- to find your uncle. And you won't be alone.

I'm getting ahead of myself, sorry. Uncle Mac fears I might be giving too much away as it is. Messing with the Laws of Causality and all that time/space continuum stuff.

Well, no worries- this letter is only to get you out of your blue funk and on your way. Now pay attention, and keep your ears and eyes open for any mention of the following:

\--Lake Avernus, Italy (The language should be a breeze after learning Spanish and French in high school. Enjoy the pasta!)

\--Kabulstan (Note that's where Uncle Mac disappeared, not died!)

\--the poem Kubla Khan, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

\--Sunless Sea

\--Grand Sanction

That should be enough to get you started. You'll have to do a lot of research, but you're good at that and it'll keep your mind off of having to pretend you're still in mourning. Remember to be your usually kind, sweet, helpful and sensible self and don't be surprised when people bend over backwards to provide you with whatever you need, in Uncle Mac's memory. Use it to your advantage, but don't abuse the privilege, either.

Enclosed with this letter is a necklace; within the pendant is Something Extra to help you locate him. The brighter the glow, the closer you are. Yes, it's magic, I can tell you that much. But you shouldn't be surprised, given some of Unc's weirder adventures. Wear it at all times, beside Mom's locket with the family pictures. Should also keep you safe from the really nasty stuff out there.

What else can I tell you? Oh yeah, some practical advice.

#1: Don't let on you know Uncle Mac's alive until you've gathered enough evidence to present to Pete, coincidental as it may initially seem. You know he's no fool when it comes to the secrets game. And don't worry, Helen will look after him when you leave. Nikki and Penny will be fine too.

#2: Keep a tight fist on the funds Pete will be providing to aid you in your search. Jack Dalton is going with you. Enough said.

#3: Watch out for Murdoc. Again, that's pretty much a given.

#4: Get a spare pair of glasses made, and the prescription written out. Not that anything will happen to them, but with your eyesight you can't wear contacts anyway. Just saying.

#5: Bring chocolate. And some boxes of that Chinese tea you like. Those will be infinitely valuable to you during the journey. Don't forget your pocketknife or diary, either.

Okay, here's a few words from someone you might know:

_Hey, sweetheart. I've really missed you. Trust your gut feelings and be careful. See you soon. Love, Mac._

And that should do it for now. Cheer up, already- soon you'll be having the time of your life. A real adventure quest with a happy ending, I promise. If you can't trust your own self then who can you trust, right?

See you eventually (in the mirror),

Becky

 


	3. The Words She's Written

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sample of journal entries. Weighing pros and cons.

February___, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

I know I haven't written in you for a while. Haven't been inclined to do much of anything, really, since the funeral and Jack's disaster of a wake. (Setting Pete's bar on fire? Seriously?) Everyone's tried to cheer me up, lunch and shopping dates with Nikki, fishing trips with Pete, that sort of thing. Even Penny tried her best, in between scenes she's shooting for a pilot of a new TV show. (Female lead on a series about a comic book superhero! Good for her.)

I even once considered chucking the whole thing- you know, doing the big S. Sorry diary, but it's true. I mean, my whole family was gone and there were no Significant Others in my life. Academia was not providing much interest, and neither was helping out at the Foundation, working at the neighborhood bookshop or tending bar at Jack's tavern. So of course I thought I had nothing else to live for, right?

Then I received this letter on my birthday care of William Newberry, the lawyer back in Minnesota. Certainly the weirdest I've ever read. Apparently from myself a hundred years or so in the past (?!) and at an unknown location. The contents, dear diary! As Unc would say, "You gotta wonder..."

So. He's not dead after all. That's a load off my mind.

As Self said, I knew deep down he was still alive through the bond we share, despite Pete's insistence to the contrary.

(Yes, I'm going to refer to the writer of that incredible letter as Self from now on. Would be terribly confusing to use my own name, now wouldn't it, diary?)

Even when I first heard the news I wondered if it was the truth. If Mac was on a long-term, very-deep-cover assignment I would've understood if he couldn't pass anything on. But to tell me point-blank he was dead? Sorry, Pete. Does not compute.

Like Unc I prefer getting straight to the heart of things, as well as possessing a sense of when I'm hearing utter balderdash (love those old words). Comes in handy during election time. Also when Jack is trying to con his way into a favor.

A nice necklace came with the letter. Oval locket pendant, inch and a half long by an inch wide. Lots of curlicues and embellishments surrounding a heart engraved on the cover. Kind of a burnished gold metal. Both necklace and letter look a hundred years old easily, which was confirmed when I later had them checked for authenticity at the Phoenix labs.

Self was right about people willing to do me favors in Mac's memory. Mustn't abuse the privilege, now that I know.

Thing is, whatever's inside the locket began to give a soft glow as soon as I opened it. Must be the Something Extra Self mentioned. Certainly not the usual portrait or photo. Weird.

Anyway, I put it on as per Self's instruction. It felt cold to the touch at first, then warm. Then a surge of well-being flowed through me, like what I used to feel whenever Mac and I cuddled on the couch.

Brought tears to my eyes, let me tell you. Gods, I miss him so much. Happy 23rd birthday to me.

So, the letter's real, from my future. I'll be going on a quest to find him soon enough, wherever he is.

And wherever- or whenever- I'll eventually wind up.

Time to do some research. Self, I sure hope you know what you're talking about.

*** * * ***

March___, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

Master's thesis going nowhere fast. Losing focus. Poor attendance and dismal grades in seminars unfortunately attest to that. Professor warned me I might be kicked out of program if it goes on for much longer, though sympathetic to aftereffects of family loss. Zoe Ryan wanted to put in a good word for me, but I gently turned her down.

On the other hand, hints Self gave in letter prove more tantalizing with each passing day.

From the encyclopedia at home: Lake Avernus (Italian: _Lago d'Averno_ ), a volcanic crater lake located in the Campania region of southern Italy, around 4 km (2.5 mi) northwest of Pozzuoli. Not far from Naples.

Picture shows it's circular, like Crater Lake in Oregon. Remember visiting there with the folks and Uncle Mac as a kid. The way the water reflects the blue sky in summer! Too beautiful for words.

Anyway, the Ancient Romans believed it was the entrance to the underworld of Hades, the god of the dead. Virgil's Aeneid has his hero descend there through a cave near the lake.

Incidentally, the Phoenix Foundation's Archives are also located near Naples, a vast library of reports and historical sources that date back to its founding. Which I originally thought was sometime in the 50s during the Cold War, but apparently was much longer ago.

Like a hundred years or more.

Hmm, wasn't there a plaque in the lunchroom referring to that? Must check next time I'm at the Foundation.

Note this excerpt of  Kubla Khan by S. T. Coleridge, 1816:

_In Xanadu did Kubla Khan_

_A stately pleasure-dome decree:_

_Where Alph, the sacred river, ran_

_Through caverns measureless to man_

_Down to a sunless sea._

Underworld. A hundred years. Caverns measureless to man. Sunless sea.

Self, what the heck are you leading me towards?

* * * *

April___, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

Opportunity has knocked.

Lunch with Pete and Nikki. Just as I was poking at my sandwich and wondering what to do next, they casually informed me of an internship opening at the Archives in Naples for the summer. Entirely within my skill set- organizing, alphabetizing, fetching and carrying.

Sounds like fun. And a way to find more clues to the Mystery of the Missing Mac. Nosing around in Pete's files and the Phoenix research library has gotten me nowhere lately; lots of things are marked "Further Contents Withheld By Order Of The Archives."

Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice might say. Am I falling down a rabbit hole of my own making? Or Self's?

When I expressed interest, they seemed relieved. I'm sure they've been discussing my welfare in private, even though I'm over 21 now. For Mac's sake they must feel obligated to watch out for me. Bless them both.

Do me some good, they both agreed. A nice change of pace. Reassess my priorities, and all that. Not to mention a chance to polish my Italian; good thing I've got the family knack for languages.

Wouldn't hurt to apply, at the very least. Right, diary?

* * * *

May___, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

I got accepted for the internship! Hooray!

The dreamer in me thinks it's destiny. The skeptic in me wonders exactly what it is I'm signing on for.

It's suddenly becoming a little scary, and more real than I've yet imagined.

Therefore, time to look at pros and cons of going through with this crazy scheme.

Pros: A chance to find Uncle Mac, and help him get out of whatever trouble he's in. Academic career practically nonexistent now, after dropping out of the Master's program at UCLA. No emotional ties left behind, except for Pete and the rest of Mac's friends. Also no boyfriends, ever since Daniel (remember him from the seminar in Seattle? Cute, blue eyes, glasses, kinda shy, doctorates in archaeology and ancient languages) disappeared off the face of the earth after giving that paper in Denver two years ago.

Thinking about Mac and his relationship issues with other women. Maybe it's something I inherited from him, after a fashion. I mean, three potential boyfriends (Luke, Ben and Daniel) and I wasn't able to get serious with any one of them! Bleah.

Cons: Possibly personal danger, if this winds up becoming a big deal. Definitely legal trouble if I get caught smuggling classified documents out of the archives. I don't have Mac's talent, except for brief flashes of inspiration here and there. And gods only know how I'm going to handle Jack.

Grandpa Harry or even Mom might say, "The greater the risk, the greater the reward. The greater the chance for trouble, too. Think it through and plan accordingly."

Oh, well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Wonder if this is how Mac ever felt, before embarking on one of his adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's tavern is mentioned in my story Mojitos and Nojitos.


	4. Secrets Stolen From Deep Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing a little digging. Going deeper.

June__, 1995. Naples, Italy.

Dear Diary,

 _Saluti dall'Italia!_ Naples is beautiful. Pasta to die for. Hot in summer, but not bad compared to home.

Nonstop flight from LAX- blessed be Pete for paying for business class instead of coach! I hate long car rides or planes, that's why I don't travel as much as Mac did. (Does. He's alive. Think positive, diary! Use present tense!)

Put a stop on the newspaper delivery but Nikki promised to sort the mail and water the plants. Pete indicated he'd take care of the bills in my absence. What would I do without their help?

Jack said he'd make sure nothing too weird was growing in the fridge or the rest of the kitchen. Typical.

Remembering my first plane ride ever- Dalton took me up for my 15th birthday. Not a fun experience for either of us. Took me a long while lying in the hangar with my head on Mac's lap before I felt up to riding again in the jeep. Apparently it cost a bundle to clean out his plane. Oops.

So, in Naples. Everyone's friendly and helpful. Set me up in a lovely _pensione_ with a balcony and view of the ocean. Nice location to have tea in the mornings.

The archives are a great place to do research. They're located in a beautiful old Franciscan monastery set high on a hill with a fabulous view of the surrounding countryside, which has been converted into a state-of-the-art library and long-term storage facility for documents and tomes on all manner of subjects.

Tasks I've been given are relatively simple- organizing and shelving books, typing and filing reports, assisting the archivists and visiting research scholars from all over the world. No different than what I've done at Phoenix, really.

Plenty of free time, too. Hardly any restrictions on what I read at all, even the classified stuff.

You heard right, diary. MacGyver's niece, remember? Very trustworthy. I've aided in top-secret projects before at the Foundation, including the time Pete's son Michael tried to ferret out information from me. I hadn't a clue, of course; all I did was fetch and carry things for the scientists working in the clean room on the weekends, and whenever Unc was lending a hand.

All that promise he had when we met after Mac helped rescue him and Connie from kidnappers in bayou country (the memory of the disastrous attempt at Cajun cuisine still makes me chuckle) and he winds up in a federal penitentiary for treason. Poor guy.

And poor Pete. I bet he still wonders sometimes what he did wrong. Nothing, that's what. Michael made his own mistakes; he had to own up for it and face the consequences.

Unfortunately I don't have access yet to the most super-secret section of the Archives, codenamed Avernus (as in the lake!). I'll work on that. Patience is a virtue, as Mom always said. And I've always been better at being patient than Uncle Mac. Remember all those times waiting for him to recover in the hospital after yet another harrowing adventure, diary?

Took a side trip to London's former location a couple days ago. Quite the crater; not like it blew up, but rather fell off the face of the earth. Quite the tourist trap now as well, unfortunately. Legend has it something mysterious happened concerning bats. (Bats?)

Read Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth on the plane, though funnily enough Self made no mention of it. The story's a fun read, though of course he had no clue about modern speleology or volcanoes. And the Hollow Earth theory beloved of the Nazis and their ilk was discredited long ago.

Wasn't it? I'm starting to wonder, based on some of the things I've been leafing through. Nothing coherent yet, just vague references here and there. Some mention of bats.

Bats? Seriously?

* * * *

July___, 1995. Naples, Italy.

_Caro diario,_

Still having fun here. Plenty of work to do along with the research, but also time for visits around the country and sunbathing in my bikini by the ocean. Good thing I packed my SPF 40; my complexion's so pale I burn instead of tan without it. Ah, the days Mac and I spent on the beach back home! He looks good shirtless and in swim trunks, I have to admit.

Casually asked a secretary (a motherly type, I've had Sunday dinners with her _famiglia_ several times already) if I could ever use the photocopier. "Just in case," I added. Her reply? _Nessun problema, tesoro._

I tell you diary, they love me here. Mustn't take advantage of that, remember.

To the work at hand:

\--Written account by a Viennese Archaeologist regarding Kabulstan. Seems he had a theory the actual location of the Garden of Eden was on a mountain in that region. How is it there exists a copy of a book supposedly destroyed during WWII and forbidden to the outside world? There are some questions even I don't dare ask the Archivists, diary.

This place holds more secrets than the Vatican, I'm sure. Is the Pope even allowed to visit here?

Mac's actually been to Kabulstan before. Recall hearing him talk a few years ago about the time he and Jack investigated a so-called Fountain of Youth, but finding instead the Chinese government was illegally involved with heavy water production, or something like that. Is there a connection I'm not seeing yet?

Must get Jack to tell his side of the story when I get back home, though no doubt it'll be heavily embellished. Remember his tall tales, back at the tavern?

I digress, sorry.

\--Five cities have been lost: from Mesopotamia, Ancient Egypt, Yucatan Peninsula, Mongol Empire, and nineteenth-century Europe (London!). Different continents, different time periods. No explanation as to why. The names remain in the history books, but nothing else does. Not even their ruins.

\--Also had a peek at the Foundation's charter. The original charter, from a hundred years ago; created by former government agents West and Gordon, among others. Among the promises to be a force for good in the world is a reference to uphold something called the "Grand Sanction" and the phrase, "as above, so below."

Wow. Seems Self was spot on when it came to the clues. Conspiracy theory, or what? Shades of the X-Files; they're airing it here- dubbed, naturally. Mulder and Scully would doubtless love the material I've uncovered.

I have a gut feeling I'm close to something, diary. Mac told me to trust my gut.

And, gods help me, I do.

* * * *

August____, 1995. Naples, Italy.

Dear Diary,

UNCLE MAC IS ALIVE! ALIVE, I TELL YOU!

Sorry for shouting like that. But I've finally found proof. He's indeed alive and well and working as an engineer (no surprise) on a ship sailing the Unterzee, or Underzee. No body of water I've ever heard of, by the way.

Here's how I got confirmation:

After some discreet bribery and sweet-talk here and there I was finally able to gain access to Avernus. Among a set of files marked "irrigo" I came across a packet of letters written in Italian by an individual- the name unintelligible- to his or her sister. Lovely handwriting. Descriptions of the ship, the ports they visited (more unfamiliar names) in someplace called the Neath. Mentions of others on board- a Captain, an Unsettling Student, an Anonymous Crewmember.

And then there's the ship's engineer. He's nicknamed the Innocent Spy (snort) and sounds remarkably like Mac, though younger than I recall. But just as cheerful, clever, handy and optimistic. And get this, diary- he uses duct tape (!), is from Los Angeles (!!), loves ice cream (!!!), has a crazy friend named Jack (!!!!) and carries around a red-handled pocketknife. Bingo!

The big payoff? Included with the letters was a map. Of the harbor at Long Beach, more accurately. That depicted the breakwater I clearly remember seeing once on a cruise with high school friends to Santa Catalina Island. Embellished with dragons and other more fanciful additions, but nonetheless the very same harbor of current times.

Here's the kicker. The letters and the map are dated at least a hundred years before the breakwater was built.

Self, you knew I'd eventually discover all this. How is that even possible?

The pieces are coming together. Avernus. The Underworld. Sunless sea. Caverns measureless to man. Hollow Earth. The original Phoenix charter. Disappeared- or fallen- cities. Bats. The Grand Sanction.

I just had a flash of intuition. Underworld. Underzee. The Neath. UnderNeath?

Diary, do you realize what this means?

There's a whole civilization- or several- miles below the surface of the earth. Complete with an ocean and ships.

And Mac's right in the thick of it. A hundred years or so in the past.

How much did Coleridge know, anyway? Where was Xanadu located? Kublai Khan had a huge empire back in the day. Did it include Kabulstan? It has to be the key, possibly an access point. One of Verne's lava tubes? But where would it end up?

So many questions, and no way to answer them unless I go there. Or then, somehow. Is time travel possible, too?

Unbelievable! Just like all those fictions I've read over the years. Only real.

Can't wait to meet this Innocent Spy and find out for myself if it's really Uncle Mac. Would he even remember me? Would he still love me?

Remember what he said though, when he rescued me from Murdoc's clutches?

"All you need is a little faith." Easier said than done sometimes, Unc.

Re-reading the last few lines, I think I just convinced myself to go on this journey. This quest, as Self calls it. Happy ending guaranteed.

I have to convince Pete as well, to mount an expedition to Kabulstan- and the Neath- with me in it, using these crucial pieces of evidence. Though I suspect that won't be as difficult as originally thought; I'm almost certain he's already in on the big secret. Have to be, to sit on the Phoenix Board of Directors.

Ah, the Foundation- doing good for humanity, keeping a hand in the Great Game (as Kipling called it) and upholding the Grand Sanction.

How did that come about, anyway? What is it down there that requires keeping so secret for so long?

Questions for another day, diary.

Smuggling these pages out of Avernus to the photocopier and back won't be easy. Maybe I'll wait until everyone's watching the big soccer (football here in Europe) match on TV between Naples and Rome next week. ( _Viva Napoli!)_ Then there's just carrying them back to the _pensione_ and packing them securely in my suitcase.

Then home the week after that, and a confrontation with Pete. He owes me the truth, now. And I owe him an explanation as to what I'm about to undertake, out of love for the man who's been my confidant, protector and best friend since I was a baby.

Even if I wind up not having the Foundation's official blessing, I can still pay for the ticket and supplies out of the (admittedly modest) trust fund my folks left me.

Then I need to- gods help me- beg Jack to accompany me. Know how Mac felt when he realized he had to ask Dalton for help in rescuing Pete and the nun in Central America when they were captured by rebels. I really don't like the idea of putting up with his hijinks, but apparently it's fated.

After that, off to Kabulstan.

Thanks, Self, for pointing the way.

Hang on, Uncle Mac. I'm coming to get you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael Thornton is from Season 2's "Family Matter" and Season 4's "Fraternity of Thieves."


	5. Suitcase of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment of truth. Preparations and reflections.

September___, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

Touchdown at LAX a few hours ago, safe and sound. Customs, etc. a breeze. I really enjoyed Italy but as Mac says, "Home sweet home, sweet home."

Apartment's fine, nothing stolen though fridge is empty and cupboard's bare. Jack's doing, of course; no big surprise. Had take-out delivered from Fong Loo's. Lots of good things to eat in Italy but sweet-and-sour shrimp, vegetable lo mein, crispy duck and pork potstickers with a tasty dipping sauce is comfort food to me.

Flying east to west always makes me feel awful; how Unc deals with it after all his travels, I have no idea. Spent a few days recovering from the jet lag- unpacking, doing laundry, groceries, catching up on news and neighborhood doings.

The moment of truth tomorrow. First thing in the morning, at the Foundation. Photocopies at the ready in my bag to present as evidence.

Yet I wonder. Am I being fair to Pete? I'm sure he has a very good reason for keeping Mac's disappearance a secret for this long. Probably even made a prior arrangement with him to announce his death after some time had passed, as an added measure of protection. Yet if it weren't for that letter on my birthday I would've bought into the whole thing, and where would I have been then?

You know where, diary. I won't mention it again. Ever.

Hard to forgive him for almost leading me on like that. For hoping I'd mourn then move on, forgetting all about Mac. As if I could ever forget the man who's been everything to me, even years before my parents and Chris died in that accident. No way. Not gonna happen.

Don't get me wrong, I'm really fond of Pete. He's been such a good friend and support to Mac over the years, and to me ever since that first summer when I visited when I was 14. Made sure everything was set up and ready- from housing to health coverage to legal assistance- when I moved down here after Unc became my legal guardian. He's warm, smart, and compassionate, with a great sense of humor. Master of the Great Game, capable leader and consummate bureaucrat when needed, but a good heart underneath. Not bad at golf or fishing, either. Patiently taught me to play chess or card games every time we waited in the hospital for Mac to recover from yet another adventure.

He's been a second surrogate uncle to me, you might say. Reminds me of Dad.

A lot of Mac's friends are like that, in fact. Nikki, with her shrewdness and passion. Penny- bubbly, earnest, and scatterbrained. Feisty Zoe Ryan. Even Jack, fiercely loyal beneath that layer of larceny. And many others I've met over the years, including Michelle (Mike) Forrester and others who are also dearly departed. Good people, kind people. But not too soft, and no fools when it comes to what's really important.

I've come to learn over the years that family is what you make of it. They've helped me in so many ways, offering advice and assistance when I needed it in Mac's absence. And in return I'm planning on abandoning them in what could possibly be nothing more than a giant red herring, which may leave me with no home at all should I return empty-handed.

Still, there's the proof. Also the destiny-laden letter from Self. Happy ending promised.

So even if Pete denies everything and refuses to help, I'm still going to Kabulstan. I won't give up on Uncle Mac, no matter what.

After all, stubbornness runs in the family. Doesn't it, diary?

He'd do the same for me. I'm certain of it.

* * * *

September____, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

Well. That wasn't too hard, as it turned out.

Bearded the lion (Pete) in his den of an office for an unauthorized morning meeting, by virtue of Helen and the use of Mac's lockpicking trick.

Small talk, then I went right to the point. He protested and blustered a bit, though gently. Persisted in convincing me Mac was dead.

In reply I calmly began presenting the evidence. Field research on Kabulstan, including that mysteriously banned book. The relevant section of the Foundation's original charter, mentioning the Grand Sanction. The centuries-old conspiracy keeping the so-called Neath top secret, after five cities had disappeared from history without a trace.

As I spoke I could see the light dawning in his eyes. He wasn't fooling me for a second, though he put up a token fight. He even apologized for sending Uncle Mac off to his death.

Apology accepted, but I still had to pull out the big guns, courtesy of the irrigo files. The descriptive letters in Italian- including one particular passage I translated for his benefit- and the incredibly anachronistic map of the Long Beach harbor with the breakwater.

You gotta hand it to the guy- he knows when he's well and truly beaten. When he finally lifted his head from the papers and stared at me with tears in his eyes I could tell he was comparing me- the daughter of his best friend's heart- with his own son. Sorry about that, Pete.

Thus convinced, he was more amiable. Apparently Jack had discovered the truth in his own way, and wanted Phoenix to sponsor his own expedition to find Mac. Clandestine meeting the night before, so as not to attract the Board's attention.

Trust Dalton to seek a profit angle even from a rescue mission, diary.

Pete put me in charge of the expedition, gave me control over the expense account. Sensible of him, if I do say so myself. Made me promise to bring Unc home safe and sound.

Yes, sir. I'll do just that. Then all will be right with the world again.

Because honestly, I'm having trouble staying in an apartment- or world, for that matter- without the one person who knows me better than I know myself. Who has always encouraged me to follow my dreams and stood by me, no matter what.

I can't live without him. So going in search of him is the next best thing. Or maybe the craziest notion ever; it's a tossup right now.

Pete and I chatted about logistics a bit longer, then he had to receive his first scheduled appointment. I swear he has new respect for me now. MacGyver's niece finally coming into her own, and all that.

I feel better knowing I have the Foundation's official support; to be honest I was pretty nervous about striking out on my own.

The next visitor waiting for Pete just outside the door tipped his hat to me as I nodded to Helen and left the outer office. Could've sworn he looked a bit like Murdoc, even with the disguise.

Nah, not possible.

There's one more difficult task ahead of me- talking Jack into accompanying me to Kabulstan. Who'll be chaperoning whom, I wonder?

An invite to dinner here at the apartment tomorrow night should work. Pasta, salad and chocolate cake. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?

Here goes nothing, diary. Picking up the receiver.

It may be fate, but it sure doesn't make things any easier.

* * * *

September____, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

Dinner with Jack wasn't the disaster I was expecting. Guess I've gotten to be a pretty good cook over the years; since Mac travels a lot I had to learn how to fend for myself early on. One can enjoy cold cereal and frozen pizza at dinner for only so long, after all.

Conversation not bad, either. Easy talk about old times, how I spent my summer vacation, how Katie and Jack Jr. are doing. They're alive and well in San Francisco, and would you believe he's starting first grade already?

Remember when they found him as a baby in the hangar, and the ensuing business with Katie and the money-counterfeiting plates. Nearly died laughing watching Jack try to wrangle a diaper, until Mac stepped in to show him how it's done. ("Past experience," he told him with a wink in my direction. Once I realized what he was referring to, my face was scarlet for the rest of the night.)

Back to dinner. All too soon the meal was over and it was time to face the music. Grit my teeth and get down to brass tacks, as Harry would say.

So I did, and get this, diary- Jack actually told the truth. Said he went to Pete with the plan (more like a shopping list, really) because he wanted to find Uncle Mac, and bring him home.

He wants to risk his life on this expedition for me, and with me. No profit angle involved. Maybe Unc's moralizing influence has finally rubbed off on him after all.

I confess I'm inclined to believe him. No twitching left eye the whole time. Just imagine it- the unvarnished truth from Jack Dalton. Something I never expected to hear in my lifetime. Could've knocked me over with a feather.

I think he was pretty stunned by his own outburst of honesty, as well.

Took a while for us to both regain our composure, but then we got right down to business. He's even seemed to accept my role as leader for the expedition, though put out at first by my control of the Foundation's charge card.

Everything Self said in the letter is coming true so far.

Can't decide whether or not to be grateful, or cautious.

* * * *

October___, 1995. Los Angeles.

Dear Diary,

Three weeks later, and everything's finally been sorted out.

Pete and I worked out a cover story for my own disappearance. A gap year of sorts; traveling, meeting the people Mac's helped, having my own adventures and trying to find my place in the world. Like I probably should've done before the disastrous Master's program, if I'm being honest.

And hey, if I can't be honest with you, diary, then who else will I find to keep my secrets?

Arrangements for the apartment are taken care of, as well. Outstanding accounts settled. Everything not going into long-term secure storage (family albums and the like) has either been sold or donated to the Challengers Club. The kids should get some use out of the clothes, and there are enough books from both of us- topics ranging from science to science fiction- to start a lending library. And enough equipment to start a laboratory, or at least host visiting Phoenix scientists doing demonstrations for the kids. Sports equipment as well, in case they ever wanted to start their own hockey team.

Cynthia was both pleased by the enormous amount of the donation and dismayed in losing my help as a volunteer, but ultimately understanding when I described my need for a fresh start.

One item of clothing I haven't been able to find yet that I want to pack is Unc's brown leather jacket. I've put it to good use as a security blanket over the years, whenever he was in the hospital or left it home while on assignment. There's something about snuggling under that worn brown cowhide with the flannel lining- and smelling that mixture of honest sweat, pine, campfire smoke and aftershave- that still speaks to me of protection, warmth, safety, and love. Have a feeling I'm gonna need that reassurance, over the course of this trip.

Of course now's the time I remember he took it with him to Ammukash, diary. Oh, well.

After some haggling, Jack and I worked out the packing list. He usually has the most extravagant tastes when spending someone else's money (the Foundation's), but I think we reached a reasonable compromise.

Alongside the more sundry items (camping gear, clothing, pocketknives, and the like), there are a couple unusual ones of note:

\--Mac's guitar, which I also kept out for sentimental reasons. I've heard Jack play before and he's pretty good, so maybe it's for entertainment.

\--Ditto the cassette player and collection of mixtapes in their specially-made durable case. There was some dispute over their contents, given Jack's preference for classic hard rock; Mac and I have always preferred more mellow folk rock, to be honest- James Taylor, Gordon Lightfoot, America, Jimmy Buffet, among others. But I believe we finally settled on a happy medium that accommodates both our tastes.

I did get to create my own mixtape with songs that had personal meaning, including Elton John's "Blue Eyes" (Mac's annual birthday serenade), Bette Midler's "Night and Day" (our life in a nutshell), Dire Straits' "Walk of Life," and Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time," which became kind of a promise-by-radio-request to be there for each other when times got tough. I also put in some songs by Roxy Yates (his old childhood friend), a few recordings of my high school choir performances, and even some smooth jazz like Kenny G, which was the first concert I ever attended with Mac, that fateful summer when I was 14.

Diary, the look on Jack's face when I told him about a tape I'd found at a music store in Italy- an album by the composer Ennio Morricone, a compilation of his Western soundtracks. I only bought it because it reminded me of Mac, and his love for the genre. You'd think I'd stolen the moon for him or something.

Of course, I also added the things recommended by Self in the letter. Glasses, both spare pair and prescription for the lenses, chocolate (did you really forget I preferred dark, Self?), and the Chinese tea blend I love.

Wonder if Jack's remembered I'm not a morning person? Don't think he's forgiven me yet for what I did that one time he got between me and my morning cup of tea; took him ages to find his pilot's cap, dangling on a rope from a high beam in his hangar with help from Mac.

Also included some family photos, for sentiment's sake. Just in case Uncle Mac and I need a reminder of where we come from.

Sheesh, diary. How are we gonna carry all this stuff on our list? By camel, or something?

Been receiving invaluable assistance from Nikki- latest satellite photos of Kabulstan, local intel, that sort of thing. By Pete's request; I don't think she has enough security clearance yet to know about the Grand Sanction. I fear she's a bit disappointed in my leaving, though. Apparently she thinks I have some aptitude for the Great Game, so over the years she's been informally teaching me, giving me techniques and advice. One time we even took tea together with an old colleague of Pete's from the Great Game, Henrietta Lang. Interesting woman, to say the least.

I'm going to miss Nikki a lot. She's been a great surrogate aunt, sensible and perceptive. Like Mom would've been if she were still alive, I think.

I have to admit something here- much as she and Mac have been at odds over the years they've also had a pretty tempestuous physical relationship. (Dare I mention this one time I had walked in on them while they had taken turns tying each other up? Unc called it "practicing escape techniques," and boy, was he blushing.) Could've sworn I heard them in the shower together a couple times, too. I won't burn your pages with any salacious details, though. We respect each other's privacy.

I would've liked her to become my aunt for real, but alas it wasn't meant to be, diary. Mac still has an issue with taking intimate relationships to the next level; he's fearless in nearly every other regard, however (thankfully there haven't been any unexpected offspring showing up just before I leave, at least). Nikki's also pretty wary of commitment herself which isn't surprising, given the losses she's experienced- husband Adam, brother Danny.

It's frankly a miracle that they became lovers at all. Not exactly good role models for romance though, when I think about it.

Wouldn't be terribly surprised if Nikki takes over Pete's job when he actually retires, one of these days; she's got more than enough experience in the Great Game to qualify.

Had lunch with Penny at Paramount Studios' commissary yesterday, where she's filming her new series. Included a tour of the set and everything. She's having the time of her life, the show's a hit, and she's dating the lead actor. I couldn't be happier for her, now that she's finally come into her own. She's the perky older sister I never had, with her advice on boys and dating and how to cope when my periods started (Mac was really out of his depth when it came to my becoming a woman, let me tell you).

She's sorry to see me leave, of course, but happy for me to have the chance to travel the world. "How wonderful it'll be," she enthused, "to meet all the people MacGyver's helped over the years! The world's a much better place because of everything he's done. I'm sure he'll be right there with you, in spirit."

I touched the locket with the Something Extra, felt the glow of well-being as before. Couldn't agree with her more.

Best close you and get some sleep on this lumpy old couch, diary. Our flight leaves first thing tomorrow morning.

Here goes nothing. No turning back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "tying up" incident I borrowed from MacBeth's "Boy Scout." The confrontation with Pete is from "With a mazy motion" and the guitar and mixtape ideas are inspired by "The List", both by my exceptional series collaborator, deepandlovelydark. Most of the songs- except for Cyndi Lauper- are mentioned in my story "Duet", in the collection "Gather Moments While You May."
> 
> Some may be familiar with Henrietta Lang, from NCIS:Los Angeles. I always thought she'd be an old friend of Pete's, with their mutual background in the Great Game.


	6. Destination Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travel broadens the mind. Notes on the journey from here to there.

October____, 1995. En route to Kabulstan.

Dear Diary,

Writing this on our charter plane- no traveling commercial for us, thanks to Pete pulling strings. Jack's sound asleep a few rows behind me, slouching low with his pilot's cap pulled down over his eyes. Even over the roar of the engines I can hear him snoring. Good thing I packed earplugs.

Always be prepared. Best advice ever from Uncle Mac. That, and "You can do anything so long as you put your mind to it."

Well, I've put my mind to this. Let's see how far I'll go.

Leaving L.A. was harder than I expected. Nikki and Penny took me out to dinner the night before. Tears, hugs, and plenty of advice for a young woman seeing the world alone. (I refrained from mentioning Jack; they'd both think I'm nuts for traveling with him. I probably am, come to think of it.)

Pete and Helen were at the charter terminal to see us off early in the morning: Bon Voyage, Be Careful, and Good Luck.

Haven't felt this emotional since Unc's "funeral" (standing room only, even if there wasn't a coffin), my high school graduation before that, or even the service for my folks and Chris.

Why am I doing this, again? How can I leave everything I've known for the past nine years behind, in exchange for the unknown?

Rhetorical question, diary. Uncle Mac is the only reason I need.

Helen pressed a package into my hands before we left. Strongly- though cryptically- recommended we use the contents before entering the cave.

Does she suspect where- or more accurately when- we might wind up? She's a former Phoenix Director, after all. An upholder of the Grand Sanction. Keeper of secrets.

Or does it mean she also has inside information? From a certain Self, writing from the past and preserved by the Foundation until the time was right, like my letter?

Probably not worth speculating about right now. We have a long haul ahead; time to settle down and get some rest myself.

* * * *

October___, 1995. Cairo, Egypt.

Dear Diary,

Remember when I wondered what we'd get to carry our supplies, a couple entries back?

You guessed it. Camels.

For the past half hour Jack's been attempting to load two of them into the rear of the plane during a refueling stop. Note I said  attempting, diary. These have to be the most ornery creatures of the whole dromedary species, if not the entire animal kingdom. By turns he's entreating, cajoling, threatening and ultimately forcing them inside, even trying to push them in with his own body and nearly getting his beloved pilot's cap chewed off his head in the process.

Wish Uncle Mac was here to see it. He'd find it as hilarious as I do.

You'd think llamas or alpacas would be more sensible, given the altitude. But no. I've already told Jack in no uncertain terms they're his responsibility. No way I'm gonna deal with them unless I absolutely have to. Rank hath its privileges.

I asked him once why we needed to get them for the expedition in the first place; he merely shrugged. "To carry our stuff, Beck. Obviously. Plus it's tradition; MacGyver smuggled camels once. Didn't he ever tell you about that?"

Thing is, he did. But it was only _one_ camel. And he returned it afterwards.

Sheesh, Dalton. Seriously.

Why do I have the nasty feeling I'm gonna be thinking that phrase a lot from now on, diary?

Looking out of the window on the opposite side I see the distant peaks of the Pyramids. One of the cities of the ancient civilization who built them disappeared off the face of the earth. Will we find their descendants in this mysterious cavern? Or at least their ruins?

No telling what's really there, underground.

With some last choice swear words the animals are now shoved into the back of the plane and the hatch shut before they can make a run for it.

Next stop, Kabulstan.

With the camels.

* * * *

October____, 1995. Ammukash Valley, Kabulstan.

Dear Diary,

Finally a chance to relax and enjoy the local hospitality before we enter the cave tomorrow morning. The Mir is a very gracious host, and Mukti is charming. Hard to believe she's in her 40s; she appears to be around my age! Eager for stories about America, too.

The tea here is delicious, a lot like that Oolong blend I became addicted to back home. They've gifted me with several packages after I expressed my approval.

Kabulstan is one of those pocket countries carved out after the recent fall of the Soviet Union, wedged in between Tajikistan, China, Pakistan, and India (the joint states of Jammu and Kashmir). Jack still believes it's the possible site of the so-called Fountain of Youth. Or is that Mountain? On the plane he told me his version of his adventure with Mac- embellished as expected, but informative nonetheless.

We finally landed at the airport in Syzygy, the capitol city. Construction everywhere as the country is trying to modernize, shifting away from the forbidding Soviet influence. An ungainly melding of styles, to say the least.

They have a hard road ahead, as an emerging nation between three older and more powerful ones. Still, I wish them well.

Customs were dealt with, including a modest squeeze to the officials to allow for unloading of the plane without a search for contraband. Once everything was packed into our rented vehicles- including a trailer for the darn camels- it's off to the Ammukash valley.

To call the roads bumpy is a gross understatement, as is calling them roads at all.

After hours of driving through mountainous terrain (the elevation here is somewhere around 9,000 feet and climbing), we arrived at a pleasant village where Mukti- their contact from the first visit several years before- and Baba, the Mir (local leader) both live. They remember Mac and Jack fondly, since they did help get the Chinese off their backs, and are very pleased to meet me as well.

"MacGyver talked a lot about you, before he entered the cave the next day," Mukti confided. "He loved you very much, and hoped you would eventually forgive him for disappearing."

We'll see about that. Maybe later, after I find him and punch him in the nose for leaving me alone for so long without even bothering to send me a note, even one in code.

Violence, diary? Not my usual style. Must be nerves about what might lie ahead.

We took the rest of the day going over our supplies, packing things as efficiently as possible and planning how to get everything loaded on the camels. The local kids keep following them around; apparently they've never seen anything like the dromedaries before, except in pictures.

We also did some last-minute shopping in the village market. I found some necklaces and earrings wrought of intricate silver filigree. The rest of my jewelry- save for the two pendants I'm currently wearing- is back home in secure storage. Guess I bought them for sentimental reasons, since it's the sort of thing Unc used to bring me from his travels abroad.

Jack picked up a loud, blaring, disco-themed soundtrack of some Indian movie, plus a battered paperback that's got him sneaking peeks into it and blushing. The title's apparently _Tropic of Cancer,_ by someone named Henry Miller. Something to do with navigation? Apparently not, since he refused to hand it over when I asked, saying the content's not suitable for someone of my tender years.

Sheesh, Dalton. Seriously. I'm not a kid anymore.

* * * *

October___, 1995. Ammukash Valley, Kabulstan.

Dear Diary,

So here we are in front of the cave entrance, prior to embarking upon our expedition underground.

After a good night's sleep we're cordially invited in the morning to partake of the waters; Jack eagerly dives in. Admittedly he already looks more spry; maybe it's the power of suggestion that works more than anything.

I'm much more reluctant. Don't want to be reliving my adolescence (or childhood!) at a time like this, so I respectfully decline. Mukti understands, but presses a cupful on me nonetheless. "Please," she says. "It will do you much good, where you are going."

Not wanting to offend my hosts I take it and drink. Refreshingly light, goes down easy. Like Perrier water but better. Tingles all the way down to my toes.

All of a sudden I feel really good. Wonder how many years got taken off just from a cupful?

At my insistence we've changed into the clothes from Helen's package.

Nineteenth-century period clothing. Which confirms in a way where- and when- we're going. Where Victorian fashion prevails. London.

For Jack some kind of frock coat, trousers, shirt, and boots. Also a bowler hat, though he insists on wearing his usual pilot's cap instead.

For me something more unusual- a practical though elegant costume of a blouse tucked into a kind of bloomers, covered by a detachable short skirt with matching jacket. Also surprisingly comfortable boots and a ladies' top hat with a ribbon.

At least my outfit doesn't include a corset, for heaven's sake. How did women put up with such nonsense for so long, in the name of convention and fashion?

Left the rest of my undergarments on for practical reasons. Hey, I'm a liberated girl from the late twentieth century. Deal with it.

Also included in the package was a pouch containing a mixture of odd things- glittery fragments, jade pieces, reddish-gold metal, some kind of yellowed silver. Currency? Secured the pouch about my person before Jack could notice and grab it- I'm the one in charge of the funds for this venture, after all.

Time to load the camels, with assistance from the local children. And make our warm farewells to Mukti and the Baba, who could be the last human beings we see for a while.

So here I am scribbling these last few words into you before heading into the unknown. I'm reminded of a quote from a French poet, François Rabelais: _Je vais pour chercher un grand peut-être._

I go to seek a Great Perhaps.

Perhaps Uncle Mac's waiting for us there, wherever and whenever he is. Only way to tell for certain is to go straight ahead into the cavern.

See you on the other side, diary.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though Kabulstan only exists within the MacGyver universe, I imagine it located on a RL Google map as the narrow part of China that extends between Tajikistan and India, bordering on Pakistan's Wakhan Corridor Nature Refuge. An area just the right size for a fictional small country. (There were quite a few of those on the show.)
> 
> There is such a word as Syzygy in English; it means, paradoxically enough, a conjunction or opposition of planets in astronomy, or a pair of connected or corresponding things. Suitable for a certain Mountain of Light that could exist both on the Surface and in the Neath.
> 
> It also sounds exotic enough in my mind to be a capital of a fictional country like Kabulstan.


	7. The Land Down Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strangers in a strange land. Also, a fortuitous meeting.

October____, 1995. Somewhere underground.

Dear Diary,

First there was the cave, an impressive sight by itself with its lofty height, its stalactites and stalagmites. At the far end it abruptly narrowed into a long tunnel with a slight incline- barely room enough for us and our beasts of burden- and dimly lit by bio-luminescent organisms embedded within the rock.

Quiet, except for the sounds of our footsteps and the camels grunting softly behind us. The occasional squeaking bat zipping overhead.

Beautiful and downright eerie by turns.

Funny thing is, while we made our way through the tunnel I felt something curious. Like we were being watched. Weighed and measured. Turned inside out and back again. Judged.

Found acceptable. Passage approved. Translocated.

And here we are, safe on the other side. As simple as that.

Might as well call this Day 1 instead, diary. Time appears to be immaterial anyway, here where there's no sun.

The last time Uncle Mac took me spelunking (easy trip, nothing too dangerous) was at the California Cavern when I was 17, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. They're beautiful, though dark and pretty cold.

This most definitely isn't that kind of underground cavern, however. Twenty feet away from us a ledge overlooks a vast jungle, ghostly in white and violet. Light emanates all around us from some unknown source, and it's actually warm and humid enough for us to take off a layer of clothes.

Unsure of what to do next we sit before the cave, giving the camels water from the canteens and treating ourselves to energy bars.

I still can't shake the feeling of being watched like earlier, though.

"All right, Becky," Jack says suddenly. "Out with it."

"Out with what?"

"You knew Mac found his way down here, wherever the hell it is. Don't think I wasn't paying attention earlier when we were discussing what to pack, or when Nikki came over with that intel on Ammukash. You knew about this place the whole time, didn't you?"

I feel my cheeks redden. He's actually more perceptive than you'd think, diary.

"C'mon, kiddo. Level with me, before we go any further. Cross my heart I won't laugh."

A bat suddenly swoops down towards us, chattering. Stalling for time, I feed it bits of my snack. The creature comes to rest on a nearby rock, folding its wings and staring at me intently.

I figure anything I say would sound nuts, so instead I pull the letter from Self out of my belt pouch and give it to Jack. Let the evidence speak for itself, as it were.

True to his word he doesn't laugh, though he grimaces briefly at the mention of himself as he reads it. "Let me get this straight," he says, handing the letter back to me. "You basically wrote to yourself from the future about this?"

"Yeah."

"Mac's alive and well down here?"

"Apparently so."

"And we're gonna find him and it'll be just like old times again."

"I guess. That's what it promises, anyway. A quest with a guaranteed happy ending."

"You trust it?"

"It sounds like me, Jack. Right down to something that only Uncle Mac and I knew about. Plus that's his handwriting there near the end."

He gives a low whistle. "Man. Here I thought coming up with crazy schemes was my department." He shrugs. "Okay Beck, you're in charge of this expedition. If your future self says we'll eventually find him then who am I to argue?"

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," I say dryly.

"Any time. Which way do we go, boss lady?"

"To be honest, I'm not really sure. The research I did in the Archives mentioned lots of locations down here but I only found one map and that was of something on the Surface, which didn't exist a hundred years ago and only someone like us would know about."

He shakes his head. "Amazing stuff, kiddo. Like those time-travel movies. What do we do now, flip a coin? Heads east, tails west?"

Suddenly the bat rises from its perch and chatters at us. It heads off in a north-easterly direction, then returns, hovering expectantly.

"Guess we got ourselves a guide," he says. "Might as well see where it leads us."

We shoulder our packs and untether the camels. Several hours pass as we travel down the mountain until finally our exhausted guide finds a perch and promptly falls asleep, allowing us to stop and set up camp.

While Jack tends to the camels, I unroll our sleeping bags and pull out MRE packs.

"So where do you think our little bat-friend is taking us, Beck?" he asks over dinner.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I hope towards some kind of civilization, at the very least."

"Got an idea as to where we might find MacGyver?"

"Yeah. You heard about the mysterious Fall of London, right?"

"High school history class was a long time ago, but sure. You think that's down here, somewhere?"

"My research did suggest the possibility."

"And that's where you think he'll be? What about getting in contact?"

I shrug. "It's the most likely place to hear news, assuming it's still intact and the people haven't died. As for anything else we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, as Unc would say. Feel free to come up with ideas before then."

"Maybe we should sleep on it first. You know I always think better after a good nap."

I can't help but chuckle. Then we hear an unearthly scream off in the distance, which prompts us to set up a sort of perimeter alarm (assuming the bat doesn't wake up in time) against possible intruders.

Unc would be proud of our joint invention, diary. Even if it does look utterly ridiculous.

Jack dusts his hands off. "Now if that doesn't work we can always follow Mac's advice, that time I took you two to see my new houseboat and worried about sleepwalking."

"Wasn't that after you stuck a bucket of water over your head because your neighbor said to?"

"Hey, that was only because I'd been brainwashed to kill that African president, Dakra."

"Yeah, along with Pete and Nikki." Seeing Jack so terrified he was losing his mind was admittedly tough to watch. "What did he say? I forget."

"Sleep in your shoes." He grins as I roll my eyes. "Don't let the bedbugs bite, kiddo." He slips into his bag, tugs the brim of the pilot's cap over his eyes and promptly begins snoring.

Diary, this may very well become the longest, strangest trip I've ever had. And Jack Dalton is my companion.

Oh, joy.

Uncle Mac, I sure hope I find you down here before I'm forced to strangle him for driving me crazy.

* * * *

Day 6.

Dear Diary,

This place is weird.

No, make that totally and completely bizarre.

It's beautiful, though, in a creepy kind of way. Crystal spires and sapphire outcroppings rise amid a lush forest made up of all kinds of fungus, some varieties unknown to the Surface.

But that's not what makes this place so strange. It's also magical, literally. Everything is alive.

The hills have eyes. A rock told me off something awful for daring to sit on it without asking permission first. The occasional stalagmites we have to circle around have mouths with very sharp teeth; one almost took a bite out of Jack's hat when he brushed too close against it.

More and more bats are joining the one that's been following us since we came here. A few are albinos, as if they've never seen the sun.

Jack keeps muttering about vampire blood-suckers, but I remind him they only exist in horror movies. These are actually quite curious and friendly; they've even taken a liking to the camels. And vice versa, to our amazement.

To paraphrase Dorothy, I don't think we're in Ammukash Valley anymore, diary.

* * * *

Day 9.

Dear Diary,

After several days of following the flock through this weird fungal forest we've encountered a spring of some dark reddish liquid, bubbling up out of the ground. Jack wants to refill our canteens but I caution him against it; according to Uncle Mac, excess iron leaching out of the ground into springs like this one usually make them unsafe to drink.

Mac taught me a lot about basic survival and self-defense techniques when I was younger, for which I'm pretty grateful. It's amazing how many of his lessons I'm recalling these days.

The camels aren't so easy to convince, making a beeline for the water. We barely hold them back in time.

Despite the obvious danger, Jack reckons we might as well see where it leads. "There's gotta be an underground ocean or lake it dumps into, right?" Apparently our guides agree; we follow them downstream as the trickling water eventually becomes a full-fledged river.

Its deep red color disturbingly reminds me of blood, and the numerous odd-looking trees lining the banks reinforce the idea; upon closer inspection at lot of them appear to be made of bone, though human or animal we can't tell.

Along the way we occasionally catch a glimpse of creatures prowling along the opposite side, the sort never seen before on the nature shows back home on TV.

It's not your average underground cavern, that's for sure. More like a creepy, macabre Wonderland. Wouldn't surprise me if we come across a giant caterpillar smoking a hookah soon.

Suddenly our winged guides stop short. There's a flurry of agitated squeaking.

"What's happening?"

"Search me Beck, but you've got something flashing under your blouse."

I pull out the oval locket. The constant, low-intensity glow of the Something Extra has unexpectedly brightened, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

Then we hear someone yelling nearby. Automatically we hurry towards the source; soon we spy a tall, dark-skinned woman fighting valiantly against a pack of...

Mushrooms?

Not the cute little white button ones, either. These are huge, ambulatory and a shocking shade of purple, with tentacles and fangs but completely eyeless.

Yeah, you heard right, diary. Giant, blind, purple toadstools. With tentacles.

Haven't I told you earlier, how thoroughly weird this place is? Yet I'm sure we've barely scratched the surface.

One of the creatures smacks the woman to the ground with a tentacle. She falls, tucking her shoulder and rolling. Cursing under her breath she gets back to her feet, pulls out a knife from an ankle sheath and flings it straight into a large knob protruding from the top of the nearest fungi, obviously what passes for its brain. It topples over.

She has time to retrieve her weapon and do some more damage to the three remaining monsters, but soon enough they have her surrounded. She raises her chin and the knife defiantly, ready to face her destiny.

Without a word to me Jack suddenly reaches into his backpack and pulls out a hatchet. He charges forward, hacking off tentacles for all he's worth.

Diary, all I can say is thank goodness for taking those extra self-defense classes after Mac rescued me from Murdoc. The only weapon I have to hand though is my pocketknife, so as I follow him I use it to stab and rip at one of the toadstools, keeping out of the way of thrashing tentacles. It turns menacingly towards me.

"Get out of the way!" The dark-skinned woman pulls me aside as it abruptly releases a cloud of bright violet spores. "Those are toxic. Fortunately they can be released only once."

There's a hideous wail behind us; we turn in time to watch long, thick tentacles wrapping around the legs of our camels, dragging each one towards a yawning, fanged orifice.

"Hey!" Jack cries out. "I paid a hundred bucks each for them!"

With the threat to their newfound friends the flock of bats finally join in the fray, dive-bombing and biting at every available fungal surface. We continue to fight until eventually all that's left of the attackers is a large pile of slimy, purple clumps. Unfortunately, our beasts of burden are dead- according to our companion- from a neurotoxin released by glands embedded in the tentacles, which had effectively and fatally paralyzed them right from the start.

Grimly Jack and I set about undoing the ropes and releasing our supplies. The woman steps in to assist.

"My thanks for your help," she says. "Blemmigans are dangerous when they hunt in packs. I forgot about that."

"Our pleasure, ma'am." Even upset over the camels' demise, Jack manages a charming grin. (Sheesh, Dalton. Seriously.)

"I'm called the Presbyterate Adventuress." We shake hands; she's got a firm grip. "Thought I was the only human out here. Where did you come from?"

"We're travelers," I say with warning glance to Jack. "Passing through when we heard you were in trouble. We're looking for the nearest town, so we can rest and replenish our supplies. Could you possibly give us directions?"

"You helped saved my life, so I'll do better than that. You're on the borders of the Presbyterate, which has a strict policy against foreigners. The safest place for you is in Port Carnelian, though it's on the other side of the continent from here. It'll take months at best to cross and there are numerous perils along the way, which you probably won't be able to avoid without an experienced guide. You're better off coming with me downstream to Apis Meet, where you can find a steamer to travel down the coast. Follow me."

We divide the remaining supplies (some got covered with toxic slime, which makes them impossible to use) into three bundles and drag them behind us.

Once we reach the riverbank, the Adventuress indicates an organic-looking boat resting near the shore. "Only a living ship can successfully traverse Adam's Way. The water is fatal to everything else."

She steps forward and pats it reassuringly, then indicates we should do the same. It's warm to the touch. "Don't worry," she soothes. "These are friends; they won't hurt you." A purring sound emerges from the odd-looking craft.

We load the bundles and our backpacks onto the living ship; the Presbyterate Adventuress casts off into the vivid red river and we're on our way.                      

And that's how we made our first friend in the Neath, diary.

Sure hope Uncle Mac's found friends of his own down here as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See Ch. 3 of deepandlovelydark's "Tattoos of Memories" for the AU twist on the Season 4 episode, Brainwashed.


End file.
